Kevin Hearne - Trapped

“Thank you, Manannan, and all of you who agree,” I said, and privately cursed myself for not taking note of who hadn’t visually concurred. “If I could find such excellent apprentices as Granuaile, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to continue teaching. However, for me to accomplish this goal, I need to have a modicum of security. To that end, I humbly request that you keep my existence a secret, especially from the Olympians and the Norse.”

Furtive glances warned me that I had made a troublesome request.

“If … that is possible?” I asked.

Flidais spoke up. “The Olympian Bacchus asked us to inform him if you ever showed your face here.”

“Well, the Olympian Bacchus can go blow a goat.” There was no love lost between us. I had called him a “petty god of grape and goblet” and derided him as a pale echo of Dionysus. All the Roman gods were; their worshippers had possessed so little imagination that they hadn’t even moved them off Olympus. Two pantheons lived atop the same bald peak, albeit on different planes.

“Attempting to conceal it will strain our relationship with the Olympians,” Brighid pointed out.

“Perhaps you do not have all the facts here. Bacchus does not want to know of my whereabouts so he can send me a skin of his best cabernet. He wants to kill me, nothing else. He has sworn to Jupiter that he will do so. You cannot strain our relationship any more than that. So do you want more Druids or not? If you do, then don’t tell the immortal god of madness where to find me, and keep a close watch on your faeries.”

“Regrettably, it may already be too late,” Fand said, in a liquid sort of lilt that perfectly matched her appearance. “I’m quite sure many of the Fae have already spread word of your audience here. Word will circulate quickly that you are back from the dead. Bacchus will hear of it sooner or later.”

Three kinds of cat shit, Oberon .

There was nothing I could do about it now. “Speaking of people returning from a long absence,” I said, “Loki, the Norse god of mischief, is walking the nine realms again. And he seems intent on burning others.”

Brighid frowned. “Explain.”

I waved a hand at the Russian thunder god looming behind me. “This is Perun, a Slavic god of the sky. Loki somehow gained access to his plane and burned it all. You could feel the plane dying on the earth. I tell you three times; Gaia shuddered beneath my feet. I do not know if Loki plans on attacking the Tuatha Dé Danann or the Fae, but considering the myriad paths to Tír na nÓg, I highly recommend taking steps to seal it off from intruders, keeping in mind that Loki has a reputation as a shape-shifter.”

Brighid nodded. “I hear you three times, Siodhachan.” She turned to her right and said, “Manannan. Ogma. Please see to our security and devise a plan to deal with Loki should he make his way here.” She turned to her left and addressed the dignitaries there. “The Lords of Faerie and their respective hosts will assist you.” They bowed in acquiescence and acknowledgment of the order. The hairstyles represented there, I thought, could start a revolution in Hollywood salons. I didn’t know much about the Lords of Faerie and their hosts, other than that they didn’t like me very much. I think that had something to do with the cold-iron-touch-of-death thing.

One of the lords cleared his throat to get Brighid’s permission to speak. He was dressed foppishly in an Elizabethan kit, cursed with the physique of an anorexic mannequin, and had half-lidded eyes that communicated his disdain for the universe. She looked at him and dipped her chin, giving him the green light to pontificate.

“Majesty, perhaps the shuddering of Gaia reported by the Iron Druid may explain some recent disturbing reports coming in from the rangers throughout Europe.”

“Do share with us all,” Brighid said.

“Most tethers to Europe from Tír na nÓg are now inoperable. The death of the Slavic plane may explain this.”

“Begging your pardon,” I said. “Are you saying that it’s impossible to shift to Europe right now?”

The fop raised an eyebrow and sneered at me. “That is precisely what I am saying. Except for a small area in the south of Greece.”

“The tethers for the rest of the world still work?” Brighid asked.

“Yes, Majesty.”

“And the secret paths walked by the Fae?”

“Those still function admirably.”

“So your theory is that the death of Perun’s plane is causing this.”

“It is a possibility.”

“Where, precisely, in Greece may one still travel freely?” I asked.

“Anywhere in the vicinity of Mount Olympus.”

I snorted. “An Olympian wants to kill me and the only place I can currently bind my apprentice to the earth is under the nose of the Olympians? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

The faery shrugged indifferently. “The timing of the Slavic plane’s destruction coincides with the beginning of the tether disturbance. I realize that correlation does not imply causation, but it is a plausible theory. Have you another to offer?”

I almost held back, but then thought better of it. I would never win the favor of any Fae host at this point, so I might as well enjoy myself and call it like I saw it. “I will offer the theory that you are an insufferable grundlebeard,” I said, much to the amusement of the audience behind us, who were not of that particular lord’s host. He’d always be called Lord Grundlebeard after this, and he knew it; his face burned red.

“Why is it that only the area around Olympus is free from this disturbance?” I asked, turning away from the Fae.

“It would make sense if you assume the Olympians are protecting their territory,” Flidais said, rising from her chair to address the assembly. “I’m sure the dryads are under their protection. If the reverberations of Perun’s plane are being felt worldwide, the Olympians would see it as their duty to prevent the creatures in their domain from suffering.”

“Then why don’t all the world’s pantheons do the same?” I asked.

Flidais shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps they don’t understand that there’s a problem. Few depend on the earth for travel as we do, and they might be entirely unaware. And they might also be too weak to do anything about it, whereas the Olympians still retain a decent measure of their old power.”

These were certainly possibilities. It would be as fallacious for me to assume that the world was out to get me as it would be for them to assume the world wasn’t. In their favor was the timing: How could the Olympians have known an hour ago—in time to orchestrate something like this—that I was still around? I had to admit that, though it looked like a convenient trap for me, Flidais’s theory held much more water. The Olympians were looking after their own.

“Brighid, though the news of my return has probably spread already, as Fand noted, will you neglect to tell Olympus, or to officially acknowledge my return, until such time as I can finish binding my apprentice to the earth?”

She tilted her head slightly to one side. “Why should I do this?”

“So that the world will have another Druid. One,” I added with a wry smile, “who is perhaps not so annoying as myself.” Self-deprecation is an enduring social lubricant and should be applied liberally in cases like these.

Brighid broke into a full grin. “For that, I would do much more.” Her voice took on the three-note tone and she announced, “None of the Fae or the Tuatha Dé Danann are to speak of the Iron Druid’s return until after his apprentice is bound to the earth. Transgressors will be severely punished.”